else.’
The bandit leader signed to two of his men. At once they jumped over the ridge, and pushing small rock-slides before them, came skidding down to the valley floor. The rest of the bandits raised their slings, to show their readiness to strike should their companions come under attack.
‘Don’t move!’ Hanno called to his frightened people. ‘Stay still, until we know what they want.’
The two scarfed bandits now came among them, eyes glittering, and scanned the motionless marchers. One of them pointed to Kestrel, then to Sarel Amos. His companion took both by the arms and roped their wrists.
Mumpo growled a deep growl of rage.
‘Don’t move, Mumpo!’ hissed Hanno.
He saw, and understood that they would have to fight after all, whatever the cost: but he wanted to give his people their best chance. He looked round, to calculate how many of them could find cover beneath the wagon. Even so slight a movement of his head was enough to signal his intention to the keen-eyed bandit leader above, and his sling whirred. Bowman saw the stone leave the sling and hurtle towards his father. At once he reached out with his mind to shield him, and himself rocked under the stone’s impact, sending it glancing harmlessly to one side. Its force shocked him. He had enough strength to deflect a single shot, but he knew that if all the bandits were to strike at once he would be helpless.
The bandit leader, surprised that he had missed, was already reloading his sling.
‘Bo,’ said Hanno, ‘do we have a chance?’
‘No. They’ll kill us all.’
As he spoke, one of the bandits on the valley floor was roping Ashar Warmish. Her father Harman Warmish drew his knife.
‘Harman! Don’t!’
A snap, a crack, and Harman crumpled to the ground, his skull smashed. Bowman gasped aloud. It had happened too fast, he had caught the flick of the sling too late.
Now for the first time the bandit leader spoke, calling down into the valley in a harsh voice.
‘Must we kill every man among you? We’ve done it before.’
Harman Warmish lay unmoving on the ground, the blood bubbling from his head. His wife sobbed, but did not move. The bandit holding young Ashar Warmish pulled her, now limp and unresisting, to join Kestrel and Sarel. After her they picked out Seer Such, and Red Mimilith, and Sisi: all the girls who were no longer children, but were not yet mothers; though Ashar was barely twelve years old.
Kestrel allowed herself to be roped and led aside, because she understood exactly what danger they were in, even before the killing of Ashar’s father. Bowman was speaking to her.
Don’t resist. Not yet.
Sisi too understood that she had no choice. When her turn came she brushed the bandit’s hand away with contempt, and walked of her own free will, head held high, to join the shivering group. Lunki tried to go with her, but the scarfed bandit pushed her back.
When the six girls were all roped together in a chain, the bandits indicated that they were to climb the slope. Their mothers and fathers began to groan, so that Hanno had to command them.
‘Don’t move! Our duty is to live!’
It was a pitiful sight to watch, the manacled girls half-scrambling, half-pulled up the slope, dragged by the rope from above, slithering to their knees, kicking for a foothold on the loose scree. But then it was done, and the bandits on the eastern ridge were already loping away.
‘Don’t try to follow us!’ called the bandit leader. ‘We go into the labyrinth. You’ll never find us, and you’ll never find your way out again. We wish you no harm. Take this warning, and go on your way.’
He gave a sign, and the roped girls were led away. Mumpo watched, groaning under his breath, his whole body shaking with controlled rage.
‘I wish you harm!’ he said.
‘Don’t, Mumpo!’ said Hanno. ‘You’re no use to us dead.’
Bowman called silently to Kestrel.
I’ll find you. We can’t do anything yet. But I’ll find you.
One by one the bandits on the ridge slipped away, leaving only the gaunt threatening figure of the bandit leader. Then suddenly he turned and was gone.
At once Mumpo and Bowman, Tanner Amos and the Shim brothers, raced for the western slope. It was far harder to climb than they had supposed, watching the sure-footed bandits. Again and again their scrambling feet set off rock slides, which carried away the ground beneath them and sent those behind tumbling back down. Mumpo fell twice, and then took the entire hill at a run, hurling himself to the top by sheer force. The others, scrambling up behind him, called out to him.
‘Do you see them?’
‘No,’ said Mumpo, standing on the ridge where the bandits had stood, looking west.
One by one the others joined him, and understood why he had fallen silent. From the ridge to the far off western horizon the land was riven by a maze of deep cracks. Here and there the jagged fissures met, or crossed each other, in a crazy network that extended for miles. The cracks varied in depth, some no deeper than a man, some seeming bottomless. From the surface they all looked the same: shadowy slits without any distinctive markings, without any visible plant life, without the marks of human habitation. The bandits and their captives had vanished into the labyrinth leaving not even a trail of footsteps on the hard windswept plains.
Bowman closed his eyes and turned his face to the west. He was tracking Kestrel by other means.
‘They’ve not gone far,’ he said. ‘They’re moving fast. But I can find them.’
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